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42

I WOKE UP SMELLING sage incense. Sage for cleansing and ridding you of negativity, or so my teacher Marianne was fond of telling me when I complained about the smell. Sage incense always gave me a headache. Was I in Tennessee with Marianne? I didn’t remember going there. I opened my eyes to see where I was, and it was a hospital room. If you wake up in enough of them, you recognize the signs.

I lay there blinking into the light, happy to be awake. Happy to be alive. A woman came to stand by the bed. She was smiling. She had shoulder-length black hair, cut blunt around a strong face. Her eyes seemed too small for the rest of her face, but those eyes stared down at me like she knew things I didn’t, and they were good things or at least important ones. She was wearing something long and flowing, violet with a hint of red in the pattern.

I tried to talk, cleared my throat. The woman got a glass from the small bedside table, her many necklaces clinking as she moved. She bent the straw so I could drink. One of the necklaces was a pentagram.

“Not a nurse,” I said. My voice still sounded rough. She offered the water again, and I took it. I tried again, and this time my voice sounded more like me. “You’re not a nurse.”

She smiled, and the smile turned an ordinary face into something lovely, just as the burning intelligence in her eyes made her striking. “What was your first clue?” She had a soft rolling accent that I couldn’t place; Mexican, Spanish, but not.

“You’re too well dressed for one thing, and the pentagram.” I tried to point at the necklace, but my arm was taped to a board with an IV running into my skin. The hand was bandaged, and I remembered the corpse biting me. I finished the gesture with my right hand, which seemed unharmed. My left arm seemed to have a sign over it that said cut here, bite here, whatever here. I moved the fingers of my left hand to see if I could. I could. It didn’t even really hurt, just tight, as if the skin needed to stretch a little.

The woman was watching me with those eyes of hers. “I am Leonora Evans. I believe you’ve met my husband.”

“You’re Doctor Evans’ wife?”

She nodded.

“He mentioned you were a witch.”

She nodded again. “I arrived at the hospital in the . . . how do you say, nick of time, for you.” Her accent thickened when she said, how do you say.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She sat down in the chair beside the bed, and I wondered how long she’d been sitting there, watching me. “They restarted your heart, but they couldn’t keep life in your body.”

I shook my head, and the beginnings of a headache were starting behind my eyes. “Can you put out the incense? Sage always gives me a headache.”

She didn’t question it, just got up and moved to one of those little folding tables on wheels that they have in hospitals. There was incense stuck in a small brazier, a long wooden wand, a small knife, and two candles burning. It was an altar, her altar, or a portable version of it.

“Don’t take this wrong, but why are you here and a nurse isn’t?”

She spoke with her back to me as she quenched the incense. “Because if the creature that attacked you tried to kill you a second time, the nurse would probably not even notice it was happening until it was too late.” She came and sat back down by the bed.

I stared at her. “I think the nurse would notice if a flesh-eating corpse came into the room.”

She smiled and it was patient, even condescending. “You and I both know that as horrible as its servants are, the true danger is in the master.”

My eyes widened. I couldn’t help it. Fear thudded in my throat. “How did you . . . know that?”

“I touched his power when I helped cast him out of you. I heard his voice, felt his presence. He was willing you to die, Anita, draining you of life.”

I swallowed, my pulse still too fast. “I’d like a nurse now, please.”

“You’re afraid of me?” She smiled when she said it.

I started to say no, but then . . . “Yeah, but it’s not personal. Let’s just say after my brush with death, I’m